


The Void

by librarian_of_velaris



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, ACOTAR
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, F/M, Gen, Healing, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Very angst, and i mean, nessian angst, post ACOWAR, post acofas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:56:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28736103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/librarian_of_velaris/pseuds/librarian_of_velaris
Summary: It's been a while since I've written any fanfic, and with ACOSF coming out soon, the writing bug hit me. So enjoy a little Nessian angst, my treat.
Relationships: Nessian, Nesta Archeron/Cassian
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	The Void

She wondered what it was like to feel. 

It had been so long, Nesta Archeron realized, since she'd _felt._ Even hatred for Cassian would be better than this...nothingness. This emptiness that threatened to swallow her whole. 

It would be so much easier to get happy, sad, angry. To feel even the vilest of emotions would be a reminder of her humanity. That after severing the King of Hybern's head and watching her father's neck snap, she could be reassured in knowing that she survived, that she was alive. She almost missed feeling far too much, too strongly. That would be preferable to this. Anything would, truly. 

And so she tried, fucking random men--males, she silently corrected--in an attempt to feel something, anything. She thought watching Cassian's simmering jealousy would give her a level of pleasure, or she could find bliss with an anonymous fae, but...nothing. And so it became an exercise for her, something to do. A way to take the edge off, if there even was one. Most days, it was just a routine. An experiment, to see if she was getting better. 

Truth be told, she hated it. Hated the males that she led to bed, forcing out the window in the morning, secretly hoping Cassian wouldn't see. Cassian...she did not know what to say to him. Did not care, actually. He'd tried to talk to her. Visited her every day, in fact, but she wouldn't speak. Couldn't. Not after...no. She would not think of that day, not remember it. For if she did, and felt nothing, she would never forgive herself. She didn't care. No, not that she was ready to die with him, ready to cover his body with her own and enter the afterlife with a man she fiercely tried to protect. For all that Nesta hated the male, she nearly _wanted_ to want him. To finally invite him to her bed. 

But she couldn't allow it. Not now, not when she was so empty, so numb. The last time Cassian had seen her, he'd commented on the weight she'd lost. The bags under her eyes, the unwashed hair in a braided crown atop her head, strands flying loose. 

"You look like shit," he'd said. 

"Get out." The words were empty, a demand they'd both known was fruitless. 

"Nesta..." he'd begun, but she'd slammed the door in his face, hands shaking. 

Gods, she hadn't realized how thin she'd become, how bony her fingers now were. But she didn't hear footsteps leaving her shabby apartment--as shabby as she could find in Velaris, at least--no, Cassian still lingered. She could hear his foot tapping on the floor. He was thinking, she'd realized. 

It almost made her want to open the door. But she hadn't, and eventually she'd heard the pump of wings, and he took up his spot as her unasked-for guardian. She would hate him for it, if she could. 

So here she sat, staring at the wall, waiting for Cassian's departure so she could finally leave without his watchful eye. No man would come home with her if he was her watcher. Cassian always made sure of it. She almost believed he was jealous, but that...that was impossible. She was a husk, a shell, that no one could love, not even Feyre, who'd given up on her months ago. 

Even Elain had been drawing away from her, visiting her less. Amren still came by from time to time, if only to tell Nesta to get her shit together, but even she didn't quite understand the emptiness. Not when she had Varian. And Nesta...Nesta had no one to talk to. No one she could talk to. There was Cassian, but...no. She would not relive those moments with him. And her father's death was...it was too much. She could not bring herself to face that, even after all this time.

A knock at her door shook Nesta from her stupor. 

She smelled him immediately, and the scent that once brought her to a simmering rage and desire stirred nothing in her. Nesta supposed it was a blessing she should be grateful for, but she missed it. Missed it almost as much as she missed the power she'd stolen from the Cauldron, its magic having disappeared from her much like her own emotions. She didn't want to open the door, didn't want to face him and his shit eating grin, but...it was better than sitting in silence. 

"What," she said blandly, but Cassian pushed past her with an aggression she hadn't seen since...

He shut the door for her. "I'm sick of this, Nesta." He dragged a hand through his hair, turning to face her. 

"Of what." 

"You know what," he nearly growled, teeth bared, "you haven't spoken more than a word to me in months. Feyre hasn't seen you in weeks, Elain thinks you despise her now."

"I don't--" she started, but Cassian continued, his rage bubbling to the surface and ready to burst. 

"You don't eat, you don't sleep, you don't...you don't take _care_ of yourself, Nesta. When was the last time you bathed? Gotten any rest?" Nesta did not react, did not feel anything where there should be rage, or sadness, or disdain. She only looked at him blankly, watching his anger and wishing she could match it. 

"I am taking care of myself." 

"No, you're not," Cassian said, "tell me what I can do. Please, Nesta." 

_Please._

The words nearly stirred something inside her, but it faded quickly. The void was opening again, threatening to swallow her whole--

"Talk to me, Nes. What you went through..." he sighed, "I was there. Let me--let me help you." 

_Help._ What a ridiculous word, Nesta thought, for what he wished. There was no helping her. Not now, not ever. 

She hadn't realized she'd said the words aloud, but Cassian looked pained as he said, "I can help." 

"No, you can't." 

"That's only if you don't let me." 

"There is no point." 

"I can't bear to see you like this, Nesta. I...you remind me of Feyre, you know. After Tamlin..." he trailed off, and Nesta needed no explanation. 

"That was different," she said. 

"No, it's not." He took a seat on her ratty sofa and gestured to the spot next to him. "Sit, Nesta. Can't we talk? I just...can we try?" 

She eyed the seat a moment, warily. If she told him to leave, he would. No questions asked. But...

Nesta could not continue living like this. She could not be a shell, could not throw herself into this void any longer. And so she took a seat. Carefully. Gently. 

And began to speak. 


End file.
